


This don't feel like Disney

by Big_Roberto



Series: Depression's a bitch [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Funeral, Gen, Uh... Depression?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:06:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Roberto/pseuds/Big_Roberto
Summary: (Read "The Night Grows Colder" before this. It's the same character.)Attending a funeral.
Series: Depression's a bitch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539232
Kudos: 1





	This don't feel like Disney

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is not a happy story. If you don't like depressing stories, go somewhere else.

"_City's breaking down on a camel's back. __They just have to go 'cause they don't know whack. __So while you fill the streets, it's appealing to see. __You won't get undercounted 'cause you're damned and free. __You got a new horizon, it's ephemeral style. __A melancholy town where we never smile. __And all I wa-_" the radio stops. You begin to tune it out, as it will do you no good to listen. And, your "brother" is playing his Depressed Playlist. You're already depressed enough as it is.

You begin to retract into your brain, the others not around to help you.

Your friend is dead. _Your_ friend is dead. _YOUR FRIEND IS DEAD_!

And, although it is _not_ your fault, you feel... Empty. Each of your "brothers" carries a piece of your soul with them. With his death, a part of your soul dissipates, and you know this will not be the last funeral you attend.

You suppose it should get better, but it never does. Why would it? Death never gets better, yet it happens more often than not.

You chuckle for a moment, knowing that when all is said and done, _you_ will be the one who must carry the burden. The burden of those too young to understand true sadness. Those too young to understand true pain. Those who may never know a funeral. They may crack under the pressure that you hold on your shoulders every day. They may falter. They may stop. _They may die_.

You think back to the moment. _That_ moment. The one where you heard of your "brother"s death. The one that wrenched from tears from so many others. Yet, you remain a constant silence. A stoic, steady, rock for which others hold onto. A constant shoulder to cry on. A person who would care more for others than yourself.

For some reason, the car has stopped. Could it be time? Possibly. Probably. Definitely.

"Hey, come on. We don't want to be late," your mother says. Her face shows concern, but you know that it's more likely because it will make her bad if you are. You get out of the car, nonetheless. You will make your life as painless for others as you can.

As you walk up the steps leading into the funeral home, you retract farther into your brain. A country song plays over a speaker. You've never heard it, but your mother nods her head along with it.

You notice a person you did not expect to see. An old friend. Though, they were so much more than that. To you, anyways. They should not be here. They managed to change the atmosphere so drastically, you feel like laughing. You almost do. Almost.

That's when the coffin catches your eye. Then, tears begin to blur your vision. Your "brother" laying there, makeup giving him the appearance of a wax figure, looks so... Wrong. He would not have wanted to be this way. He would never have even _touched_ makeup in life. He would have preferred to be spread to nature.

Of course... You don't know him nearly as well as you thought you did.

He was a mystery, wrapped in a mystery, wrapped in shoulder bacon. He never shared much with you. Nobody ever does. 

"_You wouldn't_ _understand_."

"_It's nothing._"

"_You're too strange to understand._"

Excuses, excuses, excuses, excuses. If you had a dime for every time someone gave you an excuse to exclude you or hurt you, you'd be able to buy enough medicine to overdose yourself. Not that your parents would allow you to. Or an extremely good someone. They helped your voice, but not you. They can't help you.

No one can.

Once you've passed the coffin, having offered your condolences to your "brother"s parents, you think back to Halloween. That certain someone managed to convince you to not kill yourself.

They managed to stop you.

They managed to make you think. About the consequences, about aftershock, just... About anything. Anything to get your mind off of it.

They managed to get you to think back. Back to a time when you thought about whether _Star Wars_ was cool. When Disney was popular among your friends. When you could watch a movie without critiquing it. When you actually _enjoyed_ Disney.

But, this don't feel like Disney.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I'm writing this because I went to a funeral. The feels are gonna hit me in... Let's go with a week. So, might as well write something until then.


End file.
